


Fisherman's Blues

by SilverMiko



Series: Sight Unseen [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, HLV complaint, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMiko/pseuds/SilverMiko
Summary: The blood on Sherlock's hands, no matter how justified, is too high profile to ignore. Facing a dangerous mission surely leading to death, it's time he says goodbye to the life he knew once more, but there's one person he can't bring himself to see face to face as he prepares to fly off to uncertain doom. Funny thing, once you let goldfish in. Sometimes it's hard to let them go. HLV compliant.





	Fisherman's Blues

**Author's Note:**

> AKA my fanfic take on why Molly wasn't on the airstrip to say goodbye in HLV. There's also a stealth Ninth Doctor line in some dialogue, comment if you catch it! ;) 
> 
> Also, in this verse Anthea's real name is Eliza, FYI, if you haven't read earlier fics in this series. 
> 
> Anyway, let's crack on!

“I suppose you’ll want to arrange a visit with Dr. Hooper in the meantime?”

Mycroft sat across from Sherlock in the other chair, watching as his brother slumped in sulking regard across from him. For once, Mycroft didn’t care. He’d spent years, decades, trying to protect Sherlock as much as he could but even this time his wayward younger brother had gone too far. Killing Magnussen was a transgression even the British Government himself could not sweep under a rug, even with Lady Smallwood’s unspoken relief.

But he could offer one kindness to Sherlock, currently kept under house arrest. Even Mycroft hadn’t come for days, but the week was drawing to a close and he knew what loomed ahead. A mission on paper, uncertain death surely. Contrary to popular belief though, Mycroft Holmes wasn’t completely heartless, he could give Sherlock this one thing. So his response, when it came, was not what Mycroft had expected.

“No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter?”

“I heard you perfectly. If that’s what you wish. Shall I deliver her a message then?”

“Nope. But she can,” Sherlock said, nodding towards Eliza, who stood by the door reading emails. From his jacket pocket he produced a sealed letter and she crossed the room and took it.

“Handwritten? Damn Sherlock, may as well have made the girl a mixed tape while you were at it.”

He merely narrowed his eyes at her and Mycroft sighed.

“If that’s how it is, then we’ll be off to let you stew more. Until the week’s end.”

“Laters,” Sherlock said, getting up and turning to the window. He picked up his violin and began playing a slow, morose melody. Mycroft lingered for a moment, feeling one of the rare moments he wished he had any other job but his. 

Grabbing his umbrella, he followed Eliza down the stairs to the car.

“You seem surprised,” she said, as they got into the car.

“It’s not a wrong assumption to think he’d want to see Miss Hooper. But I suppose he doesn’t care these days.”

Eliza snorted, raising her eyes from her phone.

“If he saw Molly Hooper in person right now there’d be no way for all of England that his bony ass would be getting on that plane. He knows it too.”

Mycroft frowned.

“He’s spent too much time collecting goldfish.”

“Ouch, darling, is that all we are in the end to the great Holmeses?”

His expression softened.

“There are some exceptions, of course. But I suppose you’re right.”

“I generally am. Still, she’s going to be pretty pissed at him for this.”

“The letter or going off to certain death, again?”

“C- all of the above. If the Russians don’t get to him, my money’s on Molly.”

“Can we please not talk about his potential death for the moment.”

She looked out the window at the sky.

“Hmm, looks like rain.”

“Weather talk? Really?”

“Whatever keeps you from stress eating all the pudding tonight.”

Much like his brother earlier, Mycroft rolled his eyes. At least Sherlock had spared him the unpleasant task of informing Molly. 

***

‘ _ Molly, I’m sorry. You’ve saved my life so many times but I think that luck has run out. I know you’ll be upset, mad even, I can’t blame you. But promise me just this one thing, have a good life, Hooper. No one deserves it more than you. - SH’ _

Molly looked at the letter once more, balled it up, and chucked it to the floor.

“That’s it? That’s bloody it?”

Eliza, to her credit, looked sympathetic as she sat across from Molly in her kitchen. 

“What did it say?”

“Nothing. Everything. What is he facing and don’t lie to me, I’m getting far too good at knowing when you lot are full of shit.”

“A six month mission in Russia, it’s going to be very dangerous. It’s the only way to keep him out of prison or the truth getting out. The government thought it would be kinder.”

“Fuck kind!”

The venomous conviction of Molly’s anger gave Eliza pause for a moment as Molly continued.

“It’s a drawn out execution is what it is, giving him little choice but to take a suicide mission. I guess this time he couldn’t even bother with saying goodbye in person.”

Eliza closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She really was tired of all this pussyfooting around already.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Molly, we both know he couldn’t see you because it would hurt too much. I’m sure whatever he wrote down he meant it and honestly is this how you want to remember him, worst comes to worst? In anger?”

Molly deflated, looking down into her cup of tea.

“No. But it’s either that or I fall apart. What would you do, if it was Mycroft?”

“Me? Why would you..”

“Remember what I said about bullshitting?”

Eliza huffed. The world would do well to not underestimate Molly Hooper. 

“I suppose I’d feel the same. I supposed I’d go with him, though, in my case. He’s rubbish in the field. Shall I relay anything back to him?”

Molly shook her head.

“He probably already knows what I’d say.”

“You mean you wouldn’t just snog him randomly, again?”

“God can you people not spy on every moment?”

“Hey, I give you my word I didn’t brief Mycroft on the happy Halloween you two had. He doesn’t need to know everything.”

“Well, small mercies I suppose. Actually, tell him one thing for, ‘bygones’. He’ll understand.”

***

It was only the Watsons and his brother, of course. Not Molly. He hoped the letter got to her, and he could imagine her being completely upset with him. He didn’t blame her one bit. Last time he’d seen her, he had picked his coat back up from her flat three days after their tryst. They didn’t talk about it, and as she saw him out by the door he had stopped the strange impulse to kiss her goodbye. He had more work to do, dangerous work. He needed her safe now more than ever. They shouldn’t have gone back to Baker Street, but at least Mary’s attempt on his life had kept Magnussen at bay for the moment. It couldn’t and did not happen again though and he’d once more kept his distance from her morgue, her lab, and her flat. And now, when one danger had passed he still could not see her. Better off not, otherwise it’d make it worse.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” he said, finally telling John his full name as they said goodbye. Not many people knew his real name, Molly of course had known for a long time. It hurt saying goodbye to John and Mary. He never expected to ever have a best friend, let alone two best friends. But they would be okay. Mary would keep John right. 

So he boarded the plane, ready to go to certain death. An Eastern Wind was blowing in. Something about Mycroft’s words had put a quiet resolution in him, or maybe it was the drugs coursing through him, distracting his overactive mind, that made him calm as he sat in the white seat. Problem with putting Sherlock Holmes under solitary confinement was doing it under house arrest at 221B. Especially after an event most people would find traumatic. Especially when he’d had the last dregs of his old stash socked away inside Billy the Skull. Well, if he was going to die, might as well. 

But then, the broadcast came and suddenly Sherlock was lost in his own mind, casting his thoughts to a cold case from another time, another era, and imagining another him trying to solve it. And, as expected, the Molly Hooper in his mind was quite cross with him, but brilliant as always.

As he sank deeper into his mind, the world became fog and gaslight.

 


End file.
